Panic
by mika zero-zero twenty-one
Summary: There are eleven seconds until the bomb goes off; eleven seconds, and all nine of them and the professor could be dead.


**Panic**

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_Eleven._

He can feel adrenaline surge in his veins, even though most of them are cybernetic now. But, well, if he can't feel pure, real, _human_ adrenaline, he can certainly remember what it _felt _like when he was human. This is the same, though it's not driving straight through from East Berlin into West Berlin in the middle of a war not only of men, but of mindsets.

There are eleven seconds until the bomb goes off; eleven seconds, and all nine of them and the professor could be dead. 001 is trying as best he can to work out the code to disarm and diffuse it, but with all the thoughts that all of them were most certainly having and with emotions running as high as they are, 004 is certain that it was brutal for the infant. Not to mention, it's 002 trading off with 009 for physical control of the bomb, and the two are still at odds with one another for unspoken reasons. It's best not to interfere, he reminds himself.

He begins to brace himself. Will he die in this fire? Or will some other man come by and use his misfortune to make profit, to sell war? Will they all survive? What will happen if one of us dies?

What happens now?

_Ten._

It was like trying to outrun the other men – good for the first ten minutes, pointless when you really needed it to be. And when you finally got up that tree with only one option left before death, it was usually the option of death that would win out.

Many friends had taken death over the alternative, but 008 had never understood why. Yet, as he sits, he beings to come around to understanding it – the burning of not wanting to know what was beyond that last wire, past the last five numbers 001 still needs to figure out. He doesn't want to see more friends fall victim to death, not when it could have been so easily prevented. It's why they had all jumped – they hadn't wanted to see it for themselves, and hid away from it in the darkest recess possible.

He has to remember to keep calm. There's no point in stressing now – 002 is doing exactly as 001 tells him to, and 003 is holding 001 with steady hands. The professor is safe, for the moment. The air is hot.

_Nine._

Knives were certain weapons. Guns were uncertain weapons. Bombs were uncertain weapons. Uncertain, unskilled, and altogether useless on the street. No wonder no one ever bothered with them, save the simple ones that could be made in a water bottle and lit with a match. Nothing like this stupid thing he's holding now. No genius infant would have to tell him to pull the red wire, no the yellow one, no wait put in this number before you pull that wire...it was an insane game.

When 009 had nearly come to snapping, 002 had taken it from him, and now held it in his lap. The clock was running out fast, and if he and 001 don't hurry up and disarm this thing, they're going to be blown all the way back to Brooklyn. The Dolphin has never been so stuffy, he notes briefly, trying to occupy his mind and not pull all the damn wires right out and throw it into the ocean below them. The men who rigged it were smart; about fifteen minutes ago, they'd undone the mechanism to have it track them, but the professor, 003, and 001 had put up such a fight to not drop it out the vessel that they were stuck diffusing it. Sweat's dripping down his nose, he can't imagine what might happen if it hits the bomb. Everyone would turn inside-out, he's pretty sure, and then scream at him and 003 would probably start crying, and god knows what would happen then.

_"Three three six, and then pull the green wire, 002." _001 states. 002 follows his action, but the timer's still going.

_Eight. _

Keeping calm would be best, right? Right. No shapeshifting, no voices – nothing. Silence is good now; silence is best.

No one smiles. There are no jokes, there's no room for them now. The walls are closing in, the curtains are coming down, it's their last bow. Is it? He secretly hopes and prays not, there's still so much to do, still so many roles to play. There needs to be more closure than this oppressive silence that's eaten through all of their hearts and minds, that's seeped into every fiber of their being. It's horrifying, and all over this little device that they're grouped around anxiously.

Keep calm, it's just another act. It's nothing close to being poetic, 007 muses. They're not dying in irony, or in a fit of passion – they're dying like ordinary people. They're what every human hoped to capture, in that single moment, and the potency of their emotions could never be rivaled by even the most skilled actors. How...simple. Yet it was a perfect example of one theme that was repeated over and over again – the brutality of everyday life.

Of course, _everyday life_ was slightly different now.

_Seven._

He had never known anxiety, nor of the fear of death. He had never really _been_ afraid before, not even during the surgery. He hadn't known better, and now, he knows he'll never be able to forget it. This fear is real – not just some ruse by the Black Ghost to test them. It's not a blind fear for him, either, since he is the one caught in the very heart of it.

003's arms are comforting, but hardly reassuring. 001 works as fast as he can to find the last five numbers to disarm the bomb completely, but nothing will work. If any wrong numbers were entered, they'd die, and he would be at fault; it was a vicious game of Russian Roulette, and even though he only knew what it was from hearing 002 discuss it with 007, he had a good enough idea of the concept. He guessed this would be an inverted version of the game: normally, only one bullet was loaded into the revolver, leaving five empty slots, but this was five loaded slots and one blank. That one blank was their salvation, and it rests on his shoulders – his tiny, infantile shoulders.

_"The next number is five, 002," _He telepathically states. He sucks on his pacifier, contemplating. 003 shifts slightly and sighs. He's learning about fear, anxiety, pain, suffering, and death all in the span of twenty minutes. And now that he has, he hopes to never feel them again for the rest of his unnatural life.

_Six._

The worst he'd ever known was when his store burned down. A lot more would be burning down today, if 001 didn't hurry up. Maybe if he just melts the damn thing, it'll be over, and nothing will happen and life will continue on and he'll cook a big celebratory dinner to thank everyone...

He knows that burning the bomb won't work, except to accelerate their demise. With six seconds left, what difference could it really make? 001 and 002 might disarm it completely in that time, his rational side tells him, and then dinner would be in order. If he blows it up now, there's never going to be another meal until heaven, and no one has ever told him where cyborgs go when they die. He lets out a nervous puff of smoke, and 007 coughs at it. It's already baking in the room, what difference will it make to anyone?

Oh, the professor. He would die, and that wouldn't be good. The professor likes to eat, and if they survive and the professor can't eat, that would be devastating.

So, 006 decides, no flames. Just six more seconds of this insanity.

_Five._

Waking up and seeing several men standing around her, calling her by a number and not a name, had been the one memory of fear that was forever engraved in her memory. She recalls hearing everyone outside chattering about her, and wanting to curl into a ball and never hear or see again. The first month had been miserable, but even then, there had been noise other than labored breathing and sweat dripping. The hearts that beat then were evenly paced; the one heart that still truly beat was now erratic and terrified, racing towards what it hoped would be escape.

001 is concentrating, and sucking his pacifier. _"Four seven,"_ He communicates. 003 knows that there are only two wires and one number left to decode, and then they'll be safe. Safe is only a relative term, though, she's come to the conclusion; there's always going to be someone after them, someone wanting to kill them or claim the cyborgs for themselves. The world is a horrible place to be in the middle of a war, and whether that war was one they were all aware of mattered not.

Gilmore takes a deep breath. Their time is so short now, and she doesn't know what more she can do. Panic is universal, and nerves are so tight that she can feel every twitch of every muscle in the room. How difficult can it be to let ten people continue to live? How hard is it to make peace? How hard is it to suppress the urge to kill? 003 already knows the answer.

Too hard for the men who had turned their bodies into machines, into tools of war. Too hard, even for her at times.

_Four._

There's no sense in wasting time – there's almost none to waste, 005 thinks. His world has gone from peace to pandemonium, and there's no hope to change that in the near future. He prays that there will be a future in four seconds, because there's still things to do in the world to make it a better, safer place.

There's no simplicity to life any more, but there are also no more physical obstacles. He can move whatever he wants to wherever he wants, and he's content with that. The lack of order and routine has disturbed him since the beginning, but he's slowly adjusting to these new, odd routines; he's taken to incorporating the others' routines into his own. Order and routine are nothing here, in the burning room, but simplicity is present. It's just a small machine, one that can be disassembled and put back together eventually.

He's not afraid. Everything will be okay.

_Three._

In the lab, there was always the possibility that the experiment you were working on could blow up in your face, and you'd die. It was the risk you took when you signed on to work there, albeit blindly. You expected, as a scientist, to hold yourself with a certain sense of decorum, and you had to understand what it was that you were doing. Gilmore had always known that cybernetics were a dangerous field, and had been prepared for the worst. He would admit that he'd never expected to learn that he was working to destroy the planet, but he felt that he was rectifying his mistakes now.

Having these nine cyborgs lost would be a tragedy, and it wasn't because of the technology that would be lost. It would be disgusting to think like that; they were still people, with lives, hopes, and dreams. He'd lived his life, and had his joys and triumphs – many of them had yet to really _experience _the world, and if the bomb detonated, they never would be able to. It would be such a terrible shame; they deserved better than that. They all deserved better than the fate they'd been given and the operating tables they had wound up on, but there was no way out of that now. The bomb was another matter entirely – the pain it could cause could be prevented.

_"The other green wire," _001 said. The baby had been one of the less fortunate – he would spend a lifetime learning, but it was doubtful he'd ever grow to use that knowledge. Research had been inconclusive, and the professor was not about to run tests on the infant to find an answer. That phase of his life was over.

Shame would have colored his cheeks, had he not been bright red from the heat. Such pain, to bear the memory of seeing their faces when they learned of their metamorphosis. Such pain, to know that he could have prevented it by never becoming a part. But relief, to know that he was a part of the solution.

_"Nine," _001 says. One more wire to cut. Gilmore exhales and loosens his collar. He's going to need a stiff drink after this, he concludes. _Very _stiff.

_Two._

He was never going to doubt any of his comrades again once this was over. Never again. _If _it ended.

009 scans the room. He breathes. 001 turns his head, and 003 is beyond anxious now. 009 has no idea what to do, he's shaking too bad to do anything to help now. There's nowhere to run, and he hasn't wanted to run – he refuses to run way from things any more. The church fire was his fault, and he never wants to feel grief and regret like that again. He wants to stop feeling the regret, honestly, but there's no turning away from it now. He can only imagine what might happen if the bomb goes off, but immediately puts the though out of his head. There's no time for that, there's no time for anything.

Regret can't happen. There are two seconds until the world could be over; he can't be thinking like this. 001 is going to get that last wire, and 002 is going to cut it, and things will be fine. His façade of everything being okay had failed earlier, when he had all but had a complete breakdown over not being able to disarm the bomb. There's no more trust that he can possibly give the others in the room – these are their lives that are on the line.

Trust. It had been so hard, but it was so easy now in the face of a clock that was counting down to their demise. There was no choice but to trust in the others. It had been a decision growing up, and he'd always chosen to ignore the trust others offered him, save for the Father. There was no one like that now, and if he didn't trust, then he'd be dead.

_One._

_ "And pull the last red wire, 002," _001 says, telepathic voice wavering. Nine pairs of eyes focus so hard on the clock that it almost hurts. 002 pulls the wire.

The clock freezes at one-third of a second remaining.

Each one of them lets out a huge breath of air; the room feels a thousand degrees cooler, and the atmosphere is no longer pressing as hard. They're all so light that they can almost fly, and hugs are given to everyone by everyone else. Tears of relief flood 003's face, and 001 falls asleep. 006 promises a dinner fit for royalty, and 007 announces his plans to write a play about the experience. The joy is now tangible in the room; Gilmore leaves to go and find his bottle of scotch to share. It's bliss, and the bomb sits forgotten on the floor, numbers on the clock dimming out.

Such a small machine, 009 thinks. Such a small machine that is so powerful – destruction would have been caused by it, but instead, it's built trust and friendship. It's beyond camaraderie, what he's feeling, what he knows they're all feeling. He exhales, and hugs 003. She smiles so warmly, and he smiles in return; she had laid 001 in his crib shortly before, and takes one of his hands in both of hers as she thanks him.

There's no happiness that 004 can compare it to, but he understands and accepts it nonetheless. 002 feels the same way as he shakes the other man's hand, and more than that passes between them in that moment. It's trust stronger than so many years could build, and they all share it now. It feels as though nothing in the world can go wrong as they all laugh off their anxiety and frustration and finally move their stiff bodies. 008 and 005 finish the disassembly of the bomb, and store it in a safe box that's been on the Dolphin since it was created. There's no more danger to be worried about today.

_There's no more danger to be worried about today. _Just the thought gives 001 more peace of mind than he's ever known. He relaxes his entire, small body, and falls asleep.

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**Author's notes: **_Whooooooooooooooo, hello everyone. Look, it's a new story! I do hope you enjoyed it; the idea came to me at two in the morning and I didn't sleep until it was done (:. This is one of the most intense things I've ever written, not only for the fact that it focuses on what could be the last eleven seconds of ten peoples' lives, but looks at what each of them are thinking over those last seconds. It was a blast to write, and I hope you could feel the thrill of it all while you read it. _

_Thank you for reading! _


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